


Fortune Days

by BritishMoron



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Crime, Crime Thriller, FTM Jack, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Heist, NSFW, Slow Burn, Thriller, Trans Jack, possible sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7322080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritishMoron/pseuds/BritishMoron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a washed up crime king just isn't all it's hyped up to be. But what's a lowly SoCal man to do to ease the boredom?</p><p>(I will warn you all that anyone is fair game to die at anytime and I'm sorry. i'm also going to avoid overly dramatic deaths because they will just feel out of place in this story, sorry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Days

** Chapter 1: Old Blood and Older Cigarettes. **

****

Calisto Apartments, North Atla Street, Vinewood, Los Santos, 11:26pm.

The air of the apartment was filled with lazy cigar smoke, drifting slowly out of a half opened window and into the rain like a ghost. Neon lines and car headlights shone up from the streets down below, illuminating the raindrops as they slid down the large glass windows. An old blue velvet armchair sat facing the window, stained with cigarette ash and old whisky. It had a golden trim that time had discoloured, transforming a once beautiful centrepiece into a monument to a much duller life. Not too dissimilar, then, to the man who was currently slouched its worn seat. Tattooed hands hung from the armrests, the neck of a half drunk bourbon bottle slowly slipping from one hand and a slowly burning cigar in the other. The cigar found its way to a worn, moustached face. The mans’ eyes drooped, struggling to stay open. At a glance, he just looked like yet another Big Apple businessman, another of the many men who were chewed up and spat out by Liberty City that had moved to the west coast in hopes that the sun would re-invigorate their souls and steer out the boredom. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t. It’d be nearly impossible to recognise the crumpled suit before you as Los Santos’ once feared crime kingpin, Geoff Ramsey. Instead, years of skulking in a slowly decaying high-end apartment had turned him into something else, something less.  The cigarette was stubbed out on a pile of dog-eared travel magazines. He let the ash spill to the carpet as he dragged himself out of the chair and took a drunken stumble towards the bedroom.

The floorboards creaked and his feet dragged, adding to the ever-persistent background noise of the city.  A soft clunk echoed out as he dropped the bottle of whisky onto a table Geoff stood looking at himself in the mirror. He’d been meaning to take this suit to the dry cleaners nearly two weeks ago, but he didn’t really see the point. Hell, he didn’t even know when he started wearing the damn thing. A couple of years ago this suit would’ve meant something. Nowadays, not so much. He couldn’t even see why he kept it around, it was old and creased and the black had faded and mixed with cigar smoke into a dullish grey. He guessed it was nostalgia. Or maybe he hoped that it’d eventually motivate him to do something again instead of spending all day smoking in front of his TV and flicking through travel magazines, feeling sorry for himself. But given his criminal record he wasn’t ever really gonna get a regular job. He just wasn’t wired up for the everyday humdrum of office work and retail assistance. He was only even out in the world because of the favours he’d done for the FIB. Spending a decade laying low in a nice flat hadn’t been so bad but it was slowly driving Geoff out of his skull. He wanted to be somewhere, doing something. _Come to Los Santos_ they’d say. _It’s a world of possibilities_! Geoff scoffed internally. But going this long without some kind of… well, some kind of anything, and god knows where he’d end up. He had to do something, and soon.  Maybe find out where Jackie ended up, he hadn’t seen her in years.  Geoff shook the idea from his head and forced himself to get changed into some jeans and a jacket. That suit reminded him too much of old times and dwelling on it wasn’t going to do him any good, he’d fallen into that spiral enough to know that by now. Geoff glanced at the apartment door. _Fuck it_ , he thought as he grabbed his wallet and fumbled some shoes onto his feet. He hadn’t eaten in two days and he needed the fresh air before his brain overheated. There was a twenty-four hour supermarket a block and a half away, up on Clinton Avenue. A small, family owned thing but he’d been going there of the off chance a couple years and it was a nice enough place, with cheap enough booze. Geoff unzipped his wallet, the leather back flaking a little under his fingers. Sixty dollars and an expired bank card. _Shit_. He’d have to go to Pacific Standard tomorrow and get a new card, maybe a withdrawal to keep things ticking over. Shame the place wasn’t open all hours; he could practically see it from here and being there in the daytime meant having to put up with all the tourists gathering outside the Oriental Theatre. Geoff sighed before stepping out of his apartment and heading towards the elevator.

The chilling night-time air of Los Santos rapidly filled Geoff’s lungs and gripped his bones through his jacket.  The late September nights here were what Geoff hated the most, when he could feel the chill in his skeleton and the cold clung to him. He gripped his jacket tighter and kept walking. He was shaking, but he’d grown used to that by now. He’d chalked it up to some side effect of being washed up and anxious. Or maybe his therapist had told him that. He didn’t really care at this point. He snapped himself out of the self-analysis and tore his focus back to the road. Even at this late hour, Vinewood Boulevard was a mess of drunken friends, idiot tourists getting their wallets pinched and the occasional drug dealer or sex worker, all shining pink and gold and blue under the signs that made the place glow. The lights on the road changed and he strode across the tarmac, dampening his shoe in the pools of water that had collected on the sidewalk. A short walk down the next road and Geoff had finally made it to the store. The glass doors slid open with a hiss and Geoff slipped into the harshly lit labyrinth of “reasonably-priced” groceries. The fluorescent lights flickered and the water from Geoff’s jacket dripped onto cheap linoleum flooring. The store was completely empty at this time save for Geoff at the aging Vietnamese woman at the checkout. She was maybe late forties early fifties, her face starting to sag and wrinkled, but still wearing a smile.  He waved politely and took a basket from the stack.  Instant pizzas and packet noodles, along with a bottle of cheap whiskey, a bag of apples, a bag of chips and a small packet of discounted cigarettes were all clumsily placed at the checkout. Geoff contemplated making small talk with the woman scanning his items, but the beep of the scanner was doing a good enough job of filling the silence. He’d been coming here for years and he didn’t even know this woman’s name. He reminded himself to learn it sometime. With a rustle the woman handed him the plastic bag and Geoff handed over some crumpled notes.

“Take care of yourself out there! Hope to see you again soon!” the woman chirped with an obviously rehearsed service worker tone.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Geoff mumbled as he awkwardly turned to leave. But as he left with the familiar hiss of a sliding door and back into the rain, he couldn’t help but feel off. The true Los Santos lifestyle of self-shaming and grocery shopping had taken its toll. Was this really how he wanted things to go from here?

And what could he do to fix it?

**Author's Note:**

> There's a few more chapters after this introducing characters. There's ones for jack, ray, the joneses and gavin then after that we get to work on the crime bit. (Also yes this was posted once before but i didn't like it so everything's being reworked and polished up)


End file.
